


Paralian

by ClockworkCourier



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comedy, Demisexual Character, F/M, Family Bonding, Fix-It, M/M, Multi, Polyamorous Character, Summer Romance, Summer Vacation, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-02-28 20:48:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2746535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockworkCourier/pseuds/ClockworkCourier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Connor breaks his wrist, spends the summer working at his grandfather's beachside tourist trap, befriends a three-legged cat named Lucky, has to dress up as a pirate (complete with a hook duct taped to his cast), has dangerous amounts of Italian food, engages in a small scale war with a ferret named Captain Kidd, proves that he's the absolute worst at Truth or Dare, goes ghost hunting, almost destroys a golf cart, and prank calls his own father under his grandfather's expert guidance.</p><p>And there's kissing involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First AC fic on my end! Hella! 
> 
> First off, this fic was originally named 'the everyone loves Connor fic', so it's easy to know where this is going. Secondly, it maaaay or may not be slightly based off Gravity Falls (it totally was). Not really so much on the supernatural front, but more on the moving into a shady tourist trap with bored teenage employees and a grandfather/uncle who probably has done things of questionable legality. To be fair, I plotted most of it out before I realized it was GF-ish. Apologies, but not really. Third, most of the main characters who are teenagers are between fifteen and nineteen years old. Connor's sixteen, for instance.
> 
> Anyway, I'm excited for it! I'm sorry if the first chapter seems clipped at the end (nice introduction, thankyaverymuch), but hey, it'll be worth it!
> 
> Thank you sososo much for reading! Enjoy! :D

paralian ( _plural_ paralians)  
1\. someone who lives by the sea  
  


* * *

  
The drone of the car was enough to nearly lull Connor to sleep, his head uncomfortably tilted to lean up against the seatbelt strap. It wasn’t the worst pain he was feeling at that moment, and a combination of a sharp pain in his left wrist and his mother choosing that moment to talk was enough to pull him out of a doze.  
  
“You don’t have to do this,” she said, not for the last time. Her fingers drummed nervously on the steering wheel as she said it.  
  
“I know, Ista,” he replied with a yawn, tilting his head the opposite way to fight the stiffness in his neck. As for the pain in his wrist, there wasn’t much he could do about that. His arm was for the most part covered in a bright green cast, graffitied by a dizzying amount of signatures. It allowed nearly no flexibility, except for the ability to wiggle his fingers.  
  
He did just that, wincing as another bolt of pain shot through his wrist like he had broken it all over again.  
  
Naturally, it didn’t escape Ziio’s watchful eye. Not a whole lot of things did. She turned just enough to glance at his cast and sigh through her nose. “Did you take your medication this morning?”  
  
“Yes,” he lied, fighting another grimace. “Just hurts extra bad today, I guess.”  
  
She wasn’t convinced, but she thankfully dropped it. Not so much the subject of what they were doing, though.  
  
“Listen,” she started again, fidgeting with the air conditioning. “Your grandpa is... different. I don’t mean that in a bad way. Just, he can be a little... oh, what’s the word...”  
  
“Eccentric?” Connor tried, recalling his father’s description.  
  
Ziio nodded, tight-lipped. “And then some,” she added. “If you see his place and decide you don’t want to stay, there’s nothing wrong with coming back. We’ll find something to do in North Carolina and make the trip worth it.”  
  
“ _Ista,_ ” Connor stressed. “It’s fine. Grandpa can’t be _that_ bad. He always seemed nice whenever we saw him.”  
  
“I’m not saying he isn’t nice,” Ziio replied, her fidgeting moving to the radio. NPR started up whisper-quiet on the speakers, just adding more soft background noise to the hum of the road. It made Connor want to attempt to sleep again. Ziio just continued, not completely content with the radio. “Edward’s a businessman, and I say that loosely.”  
  
“He runs a tourist trap,” Connor said, glancing out at the road. “That’s what dad said.”  
  
Another sigh and Ziio nodded. “And you don’t have to work there,” she supplied tensely. “Don’t let him make you think it’s what you have to do.”  
  
Connor forced a grin and held his wrist up slightly. “Well, my professional lacrosse career took a hit. It might be good for me.”  
  
Ziio looked him over before rolling her eyes. “Smartass,” she said, thumping him lightly on the shoulder.  
  
They continued the ride in relative silence, and Connor took the opportunity to reach into the shoulder bag between his feet. How his mother managed to find anything in the mess of papers in it was beyond him, but at least the pamphlet he was looking for was sticking up. He grabbed it and unfolded it onto his lap, glancing over the contents for probably the fifth time.  
  
“We have to take a ferry to get there?” he asked.  
  
“Yeah. It’s pretty remote. Surprisingly touristy, though.”  
  
He nodded and looked at the glossy printed image of a stark white lighthouse against a backdrop of sea grass and golden sand dunes, above enlarged print proclaiming Ocracoke Island to be the most picturesque place in North Carolina. The picture on the opposite page was of two spinnakers on a scenic bay. It seemed kitsch enough, but Connor had a hard time imagining a pirate ship-plus-gift shop in any of it.  
  
Then again, he was having a hard time picturing anything like that at all. Connor had met his grandfather a total of two times in his entire life, three counting when he was born. The earliest time was when he was five and they visited Boston to see Connor’s father, and the last time was when he was twelve and was spending half of his spring break with his father again. Other than that, his image of Edward Kenway was blurry at best, consisting of a man who looked much younger than he actually was, with permanent stubble on his chin, hair so white it could have been confused for blond, and a stagger in his walk that made Connor worry he was going to keel over at any point.  
  
Needless to say, it was a huge surprise that Edward had offered for Connor to stay the summer with him.  
  
Connor set the pamphlet on the console and moved to rest his arm on his lap. He had a million questions about his grandfather, and in that line of thought, about his father. Neither seemed like comfortable subjects with his mother, but he supposed for the moment, it was necessary.  
  
“So how did dad and grandpa end up over here anyway?” he asked.  
  
Predictably, Ziio was quiet for a moment before she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, something she did by way of fidgeting. “I think it was something about Edward’s job at the time. I don’t really know. I never asked about it,” she said, already sounding like she wanted to end the conversation.  
  
Even so, Connor was stubborn at the best of times. “What about grandpa’s wife?”  
  
“Passed away before they moved.”  
  
“And dad’s sister?”  
  
“Still in England,” was the clipped reply.  
  
Connor honestly didn’t expect much more out of his mother. Her relationship with his father was tense at best, although Connor was still a baby when they separated. They hadn’t been married, for that matter, which actually served to complicate things more than simplify them.  
  
“Anyway,” Ziio said, obviously trying to force a segue. “ _Technically_ , you’re supposed to be getting your cast off in four weeks. I’ll talk to Edward about it when we get there. I’m sure another doctor will be able to take it off.”  
  
“Or grandpa can take it off himself?”  
  
Ziio shot him a glare before nudging him in the shoulder again. “Not if he wants to keep his own arms attached,” she said. “I wouldn’t trust that man with a saw in a million years. Besides, a doctor needs to make sure you healed up right.”  
  
To her credit, it _had_ been a bad break. At least, bad enough that he was prescribed two weeks of physical therapy once his cast came off.  
  
“I’ll tell Edward about your medication too,” she went on, tapping the steering wheel again. Then, she gave him a dangerous glare that usually was associated with ‘Ratonhnhaké:ton, so help me, you better do what I say.’ “You _are_ going to take them, right?”  
  
Out of sheer instinct, he nodded, subconsciously working his way into the corner between his seat and the car door.  
  
She nodded, satisfied. “Good.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick disclaimer: I've only been to the Outer Banks twice in my life (I'm from Michigan, so it's a bit far), and Ocracoke once. Part of this is from memory, and the other part is scouring every last inch of information about the place, including sitting on Google Maps for an hour.
> 
> Now that it's out of the way, thank you to everyone who commented or left kudos! I haven't had time to reply yet, but I'm getting to them! You're all superstars.

Connor had built an idea of Ocracoke, mostly out of the pamphlet and a few searches on his phone. He was expecting it to be warm, swarming with tourists, sailboats gliding through deep blue water under a canopy of bright blue sky. What ended up being right was the tourists. It was easy to spot them, even as Connor and his mother were going at a snail pace in their car. There were small flocks of them, most of them elderly and some coasting along in motor scooters. One of them managed to outpace them in a _golf cart_.  
  
Otherwise, Ocracoke Island was the exact opposite of his idea, at least on the day they got there. Despite it being the beginning of summer, it was surprisingly cold, enough that Connor had to dig around in the back seat to retrieve his hoodie. The sky was hidden behind a dismally gray sheet of clouds, and rain pelted their car sporadically. The ocean, from what little Connor could see of it from in between the buildings, was just as miserably gray as the sky, and the only boats out on it were ones anchored in place or tucked into the docks.   
  
Still, he guessed there was some kind of charm to it. Like his grandfather, some of the business owners made good on the island’s promise of pirates. Jolly Roger flags hung in equal measure with American ones. Business names included ‘pirate’ and ‘mermaid’ with an alarming amount of puns. Other than that, the island was well settled, and some of the beach houses were relatively impressive. Connor had a hard time fitting the image of his grandfather into all of it.  
  
“It’s looked better,” Ziio commented, turning right onto one of the back roads. “It’ll probably be okay once the weather clears up.”  
  
They slowly drove down the road, Connor hardly resisting the urge to ogle at the massive houses lining both sides. Most of them had some sizable property, but he noticed that oddly enough, they appeared to downsize the closer to the end of the road closest to the beach. They passed one house with an old rusted Chevy mounted on cinder blocks in the front yard, and Connor abruptly realized they were close to Edward’s house.  
  
Almost on cue, Ziio turned onto a gravel driveway. Much to what was probably their collective relief, the house in front of them didn’t look half bad. Connor guessed it was probably a vacation home at some point, since it probably would have served better as a temporary residence than a permanent one.   
  
The house, from what Connor could see from outside, was one storey plus an attic. It was covered in a sun bleached gray siding, clearly beaten up by the sheer force of the weather. There was no foundation, instead lending the appearance that the house was mounted on stilts, which made hurricane season a worrying possibility.   
  
In any other situation, Connor might have assumed it _was_ a summer cottage. But there were a few things that denoted that Edward Kenway made his home there. The first was the massive Jolly Roger mounted on a post by the front door. Then there was a line of obviously filched deck chairs on the porch, with pots of suffering potted plants between them.   
  
Then...  
  
“Oh, no,” Ziio muttered, putting her car in park. “He still has it.”  
  
 _It_ was possibly the single most ancient pickup truck in the history of the United States of America. Connor couldn’t tell if it was painted red or was just colored purely by rust. It was old enough that there wasn’t a discernible brand on it. Instead, there was a bright green bumper sticker where a car company logo should be saying ‘I Found Booty at the Salty Shanty!’. A window clip-on Jolly Roger waved proudly from the passenger window.   
  
“That thing either needs to be crushed or put in a museum,” Ziio said under her breath, turning the car off. “How the hell is it still running?”  
  
The best answer she could get was the front door of the house swinging open and hitting the wall with a bang. Out strode Edward, looking almost exactly like how Connor remembered him from the last time, except his hair was tied back in a sad excuse for a ponytail, he was wearing a gray t-shirt so faded that there was no discernible way to tell what the design on it once was, and best of all, he was wearing neon yellow swimming trunks with bright blue tropical fish designs decorating them. His grin was wide and one arm was already up in an enthusiastic wave.  
  
“Oh, great,” Ziio said, running a hand through her hair before she looked over at Connor. “Remember what I said about changing your mind.”  
  
“I remember,” he replied.   
  
Connor opened the door and weakly waved back to his grandfather who was already taking the porch steps two at a time. Ziio got out behind him and instantly forced a smile, typically what she used when talking to Haytham.   
  
“Edward,” she said by way of greeting.  
  
“Ahhh, Ziio!” Edward greeted, far more enthusiastically. He promptly swept her up in a hug that might have crushed the ribs of a lesser human. “You look prettier every time I see ya, lass!”  
  
“Charmed,” Ziio wheezed out.   
  
Unfortunately, Connor couldn’t move quick enough to avoid Edward gripping him in a hug next.   
  
“Look at you, boy!” Edward exclaimed, squeezing Connor so tightly that he swore he could hear his spine creaking in protest. “Practically the size of a bear now! My God, what has your mother been feeding you?”  
  
“His Wheaties,” Ziio replied drily. “Please let go before you kill him.”  
  
Fortunately, Edward did let him go, which Connor’s lungs were beyond thankful for. He took in a deep breath and rubbed at his side, his mother sparing him a quick look of sympathy before Edward turned to face her.  
  
“Well, it’s good to see the both of ya!” he went on without a hitch. “I can make ya some tea or coffee if you’d like before you head out, Ziio. It’s a long drive back to New York, yeah?”  
  
He looked away just long enough for her to roll her eyes. “Yeah, a little bit,” she replied as she opened the trunk. “I’m staying at a hotel for tonight and leaving in the morning.”  
  
Connor slipped by her to get his bags while Edward managed to look both pleased and flustered at the same time. “Well, hell, ya could’ve told me that! I got a couch I could’ve slept on if it would have saved ya some time!”  
  
“I wouldn’t have wanted to impose,” Ziio said, which was essentially code for ‘I’m sure your bed is a hammock so thanks but no thanks’. “It’s already huge for you to take on Connor for so long.”  
  
Edward waved it off and snorted. “As though one more day and one more person would have mattered much!”  
  
“Thank you, Edward. Honestly. But I _did_ make reservations already on the mainland, so...” she trailed off, turning her palms upward as she shrugged, complete with a carefully trained helpless expression. She was a pretty impressive actor when she wanted to be. “Tea sounds good, though,” she added.  
  
Just as Connor slung the largest of the bags over his shoulder, Edward herded Ziio toward the door with one arm over her shoulders. She managed to cast a _legitimately_ helpless glance over her shoulders before slyly nudging Edward in the side. “Hey, remember? Broken wrist over there?”   
  
Edward’s eyes widened and he quickly turned on heel. “Sorry ‘bout that! Here, boy. Let me--” He picked up the other duffel bag as if it weighed less than a backpack. “Ah! There we go. Now, you’ve got to tell me how you broke it! That’s an awful lot of plaster for one wrist.”  
  
Connor trailed behind Edward as they made their way onto the porch, the toes of his sneakers already getting a fine coating of dirt from the dusty walkway. “I got tackled in a lacrosse scrimmage,” he said, adjusting the strap of his bag. “I broke my scaphoid bone.”  
  
“Your _what?_ ”  
  
Ziio scooted ahead of them and held open the screen door. “It’s a carpal bone at the base of his thumb,” she explained. “Right above the radius.”  
  
“Ah, right. Nurse-speak,” Edward said with good-natured exasperation. “Well, must’ve been bad to earn all that for one little bone.”  
  
“Not enough for surgery, but just enough for physical therapy,” Ziio added as they walked by her. She followed in after them as the screen door closed on the frame with a sharp _thwack_. She flinched and frowned back at it.  
  
Edward set the duffel bag down on the floor and Connor followed suit, taking the time after to survey the foyer-living room combination.   
  
It certainly matched the outside, plus a painfully obvious nautical theme. The walls were all paneled in dark wood that might have been lacquered once upon a time. The decor varied between life preservers and paintings of enormous marlins leaping out of stormy seas. There was even the expected ship in a bottle mounted on a shelf above an ancient television. The couch that Edward had offered to sleep on looked like the opposite of a pleasant sleeping experience. It was white with a dark green and gray-blue plaid pattern and cushions so flat that sitting on plywood with a towel over it might have been just as comfortable. There was a fleece throw blanket cast over the back that probably outdated Connor by at least ten years and featured a faded image of the Cape Hatteras lighthouse.  
  
Everything else in the immediate viewing vicinity was about the same. Two rocking chairs that had definitely seen better days, a desk piled high in old magazines and books so old that a museum probably would have put in for them, a mounted wall clock with the numbers replaced by sailboats, and an algae-coated fish tank with two enormous goldfish lazily drifting back and forth. Even the carpet fit the image somehow, being a circa-1978 olive-green shag.  
  
“Well, godawful wrist fractures aside, home sweet home!” Edward enthused, spreading his arms out at his sides. He then gestured to a narrow staircase on the other side of the door. “Your room’s up that way. It’s all one room anyway, so it’s not hard to find where you’ll be layin’ your head.”  
  
Connor nodded and picked up the largest back with his good hand, just as Ziio began an outline of what Edward had to do once Connor was set to get his cast off. He almost had to turn completely sideways to get up the stairs, ignoring the slight stick of carpet on the bottom of his shoes.   
  
When Edward had said ‘loft’, he was being charitable at best. ‘Loft’ apparently meant ‘hastily converted attic’. Shag carpeting gave way to unfinished floorboards criss-crossed in deep grooves from moved furniture. Connor was instantly met with a wave of thick, stale heat from a complete lack of ventilation. He pulled in a deep breath through his nose immediately before turning to see where he was meant to sleep.  
  
His bed looked like an afterthought, like Edward suddenly realized the couch was no place for his grandson. Cardboard boxes and black trash bags were shoved aside to make a place for what looked like an army grade cot with an 80s-esque plaid fitted sheet and two dull beige blankets. There was one very flat pillow, but Connor’s attention was drawn more to the large brown tabby snoozing on it.  
  
“Uh,” he said eloquently, setting his bag on the floor next to the bed. The tabby opened its eyes just long enough to register Connor was there before yawning and laying its head back down, its tail flicking lazily in acknowledgment.   
  
He tentatively reached down and pet the cat on the back of the head, right behind its ears. Immediately, it started purring, not bothering to open its eyes. “Hey,” Connor said. “You’re kind of on my bed.”  
  
The cat’s eyes opened again, but there was no more reaction than that. Evidently, Connor had to wait the cat out. He scratched behind one of its ears for a moment before turning and heading back downstairs to get his other bag.  
  
Edward and Ziio had migrated over to the rocking chairs, Ziio deep in a heated explanation of exactly what she would do to Edward if he didn’t get the cast situation taken care of. Both of them looked up once Connor got there, with Edward slipping into a pleased grin.  
  
“Not too shabby, right? Ya got a nice view of the ocean up there.”  
  
Connor frowned and picked up his bag. “There’s a cat on my bed,” he said.  
  
The smile didn’t slip a fraction. “Oh! That’s Lucky Lem, or just Lucky if ya wanna call him that. He’s a lazy thing, so don’t hesitate to push him off if ya need to. And don’t mind the missing leg. Doesn’t bother him any.”  
  
Connor raised an eyebrow at the same time as Ziio. “Missing leg?” he repeated.  
  
“Aye, his back right. Was missing it when I got him as a young thing. A friend of mine said I needed a cat, and he was the first one I picked. She didn’t approve of me calling him Pegleg, so Lucky it was. He’s as friendly as it gets, though.”  
  
“Well, better Connor than anyone else,” Ziio said with a wry smile. “He spends half his time at lacrosse and the other half at animal shelters. He’s brought home more stray, feral, messed up animals than I can count.”  
  
“We only have one cat, though,” Connor said, not without sounding a little sullen. He started edging back up the stairs with his bag as Edward laughed.  
  
“A Kenway through and through, then! Haytham used to bring home the mangiest assortment of creatures. Used to scare his sister half to death, what with bringing back birds and dogs and the like,” he recounted, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair. “Couldn’t guess at that now, what with his fancy lawyer’s apartment or what ever it is. _Condo_ , I suppose.”  
  
Fortunately, Connor managed to escape any further talk about his father. Lucky was boredly watching him as he walked over, setting his back next to the other one. He cast his sights around and eventually found what he guessed was his dresser for the summer, unceremoniously shoved behind a few moving boxes. He pushed the boxes aside with his foot and managed to eke the dresser closer to his bed, only slightly alarming the cat.  
  
“Sorry,” he apologized, not feeling ridiculous for it. “I might not be what you want in a roommate.”  
  
Lucky blinked slowly at him before pulling himself up in a stretch. Just as Edward said, his back right leg was just a stump, but it didn’t seem to hinder him at all. He made his way over to the edge of the bed in a leisurely walk-limp pattern. He then sat down and began grooming himself.   
  
Connor unzipped the larger bag and used his good hand to pull out some of his clothes after finding the dresser drawers to be empty. “My cat back home doesn’t look like you,” he said, rolling up one of his shirts on his lap. “She’s a calico and like half your weight.”  
  
As expected, Lucky just kept grooming himself.  
  
Connor worked through the contents of his bag with a meditative slowness. He listened partially to the muffled conversation downstairs, only permeated once in awhile by Edward’s raucous laughter.   
  
He couldn’t help but think of how different his father and grandfather were. Of course, he had known that since his earliest memory of them, but it was even more noticeable. Even their houses looked opposite, with Haytham’s being, indeed, a condo nestled in a small Boston neighborhood. Haytham kept house meticulously, aside from the scattered books and newspapers, which Connor supposed was a little bit of a similarity. Otherwise, his carpets were always steam-cleaned, kitchen tile blindingly bright, every surface dusted. It was almost uncomfortable, and it was strange enough that Connor actually found Edward’s house more welcoming, even if it was lacking in a few things.  
  
He frowned at the thought, mostly at his father. Edward and Haytham’s respective personalities were so different, and Connor had a hard time trying to figure out why that was. He couldn’t see any bit of Edward in Haytham, which made Connor wonder if his grandmother had been like that at all. It was hard to imagine Edward being with anyone as uptight as his own son, but then again, Haytham _had_ been attracted to Ziio, and they weren’t alike at all.  
  
“My dad wouldn’t have a three-legged cat,” he mumbled, reaching over to pet Lucky between the ears. The cat met his hand eagerly and purred in contentment.   
  
\---  
  
“--and don’t forget about his medication.” Connor heard Ziio finish just as he made his way downstairs.  
  
“Of course,” Edward replied. “That thing’s got to be painful, yeah?”  
  
Both of them looked up at Connor expectantly, and he just nodded.   
  
“Well, now that we’ve got that all squared around,” Edward continued, folding his hands over his stomach. “What say you two to a quick tour of the place? Not the whole island, obviously, but maybe lunch and a jaunt down to the old workplace.”  
  
Connor walked over and sat on the armrest of the couch, which was probably more comfortable than the thing itself. “You mean your store?”  
  
Edward smiled proudly, like he was talking more about a child than a tourist trap. “That’s the one! The Jackdaw and the Salty Shanty, Ocracoke’s best historical museum and gift shop!”  
  
“And Connor doesn’t have to work there, _right?_ ” Ziio said, raising an eyebrow.  
  
“Not for a moment if he doesn’t want to!” Edward replied, although he didn’t sound completely convincing. “I’ve got summer help a-plenty down there. Some of them Connor’s own age! So he’d be more than welcome to just sit down there if he feels like there’s a distinct lack of things to do. He’ll meet a few today, if you’re willing to see it.”  
  
Ziio regarded him suspiciously, and with good reason. Even so, it wasn’t as though she could have got after him about any of it. “Up to Connor,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’ve seen the place. He hasn’t.”  
  
Edward turned toward him with a smile. “Lad?”  
  
Connor just shrugged. “Sure.”  
  
“Excellent! There’s a pretty decent pub nearby that a friend of mine owns. Seafood’s good, at least. Too bad you weren’t here a few months back during soft shell crab season! I’m sure they’ve still got some, but it won’t be as good.”  
  
“Tragic,” Ziio said.  
  
\---  
  
To Connor and Ziio’s relief, Edward agreed to taking their car instead of his truck, which probably saved both their lives and the environment to some degree. To their even better fortune, he let Ziio drive and just provided directions, which was easy considering that the island didn’t have many streets to begin with.  
  
They decided on the tourist trap first, which Connor suspected was mostly just to get it out of the way. Oddly enough, it was away from most of what could be considered the tourist section of the island, just on the edge of where pirate puns gave way to places that locals probably went to. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, there was a pirate ship.  
  
Granted, it was a little smaller than Connor expected, but it was unmistakable. A Jolly Roger flew proudly from one of the masts, and he could make out the shapes of tourists milling along its deck. The closer they got to it, the more he understood _why_ it was a tourist trap. Brightly colored signs proclaimed the ship to be _the_ premier historic attraction in all of North Carolina, and one neon yellow sign said it was the best in the _world_.   
  
A short distance away was the Salty Shanty, which was not what Connor was expecting from a building with that name. Where he expected a place that looked like his grandfather’s beach house, instead he was met with something that looked a little more like the cleancut homes further into town. The building could better be described as a two floor house, painted a daisy yellow with pale purple shutters. The only sign that it had anything to do with pirates was another Jolly Roger flying near the front door. Then again, it was flying above a tastefully arranged pot of petunias. Obviously, the building design didn’t fall into Edward’s jurisdiction.   
  
“And there it is,” Edward said proudly. “The finest thing Ocracoke Island has to offer.”  
  
Ziio looked like she wanted to debate that, but she wordlessly pulled into the parking lot while Edward looked on like a proud father. Connor was sure he probably hadn’t even looked at his own children like that.  
  
“We’ll go into the store first, so you can properly meet everyone,” Edward continued, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Everyone mostly works rotating shifts, sometimes on the ship and sometimes in the store. Depends on what day it is. And it doesn’t count the actors.”  
  
They got out and Connor managed to step away before a golf cart nearly mowed him down. The cart was full of a gaggle of giggling preteen girls, one of which waved at him with a brace-tightened smile. Connor cringed and edged closer to his mother.  
  
“It’s... busy,” Ziio commented, eying the cart as well. “Is it always like this?”  
  
“For the most part,” Edward replied, trying not to sound too pleased with himself. “We got featured on some travel show a year or so back and the crowds have been coming ever since. We even had to extend hours in the spring and fall.”  
  
They followed him up the wheelchair ramp to the shop, speakers mounted by the door blaring some Irish-sounding choir singing about a Spanish woman. He opened the front door with a tinkling of bells, allowing Connor and Ziio to step in ahead of him.  
  
What Connor didn’t expect was two teenage boys crouching in front of a bookshelf, one of them chest-to-floor and yelling in Arabic at something unseen. The other one cheered him on enthusiastically.  
  
“I swear, we’ll get her this time!” he enthused in an unusually strong Italian accent. “That’s the last thing she’ll ever take!”  
  
The older boy on the floor said something that was probably a curse before smacking the base of the bookshelf. The only thing Connor could make out in his stream of Arabic obscenities was ‘Captain Kidd’, strangely enough.  
  
Edward cleared his throat and both boys looked up at the same time, the Italian one amused, the Arabic one frustrated.  
  
“Altaïr, language,” Edward said with a grin. “On both counts. None of that sounded very nice.”  
  
Altaïr grimaced and stared back at the bookshelf. “She stole a keychain,” he said, his accent flawlessly American, which seemed odd.   
  
The Italian boy nodded and put his hands on his hips. “She tried to steal Aveline’s keys earlier, but we stopped her. I think this is vengeance.”  
  
Edward smiled in mock helplessness before shrugging. “Ah, well, leave her be for the moment. We’ll catch her later. Before that, come over here so I can introduce all of you.”  
  
The boys glanced at each other before standing up and walking over. Connor observed that he and Altaïr were about the same height, despite the fact that Altaïr looked older. Height was about where the comparisons ended. He was leaner, his dust-brown hair cropped short, his eyes narrowed and hard-gazed. For how intimidating he might have looked otherwise, it was all negated by the dark blue shirt he was wearing, featuring a caricatured pirate with a parrot on his shoulder, reading ‘Polly Want a Savings’ in bright green comic sans.  
  
“Connor, this is Altaïr Ibn-La’Ahad,” Edward introduced. “Mouthful of a name, yes, so Altaïr works just fine.”  
  
Altaïr wordlessly held his hand out, which Connor returned. Altaïr’s grip was mercilessly tight. “Nice to meet you,” he muttered.  
  
“Altaïr, this is my grandson, Connor,” Edward continued with a grin. “He’s come all the way from New York to spend the summer. And this is his mother, Ziio.”  
  
Ziio shook Altaïr’s hand first, smiling congenially. Altaïr looked surprised, which Connor suspected was because Ziio could manage a tighter grip.   
  
Edward gestured to the shorter Italian boy, who smiled charismatically, and even offered a stray wink at Ziio. “This is Ezio Auditore, a summer resident. His family manages the finances of this place better than I ever could, so I owed him a job.”  
  
Ezio couldn’t have looked more different from Altaïr. His dark hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, and his eyes were bright and lively, if not a little mischievous. He had an easygoing nature which as easy to pick up on. Like Altaïr, he wore a t-shirt, although his was black and read ‘Got Booty?’ in white impact lettering.  
  
Instead of a handshake, Ezio went for a hand-kiss on Ziio. “ _Piacere di conoscerti, bella donna,_ ” he said.  
  
“Oh,” Ziio returned, staring at her hand like she had just been burned. “Uh, grazie, I guess.”  
  
“Yeah, watch yourself around this one,” Edward said wryly. “He’s a hugger.”  
  
“I prefer _romantic_ ,” Ezio added, tipping his chin up at Edward. “I love the love.” Then, he looked over at Connor, appraising him with a quirked eyebrow. Fortunately, he didn’t try to kiss Connor’s hand, instead shaking it. “I will hazard a guess you don’t want your casted hand to be the recipient of a greeting, _si?_ ”  
  
“That... yeah, that would be bad,” Connor replied, feeling his cheeks burn a little.   
  
Ezio let him go and turned back toward Edward. “So, the Captain Kidd problem?”  
  
“Eh, move the bookshelf,” Edward said dismissively. “We’re yet to find her hoard, but I’m sure she’ll lead us there eventually.”  
  
Connor looked between them in confusion. “Who is she?”  
  
Edward laughed as Altaïr immediately stormed back over to the bookshelf. “Captain William Kidd is our resident mascot.”  
  
“ _This_ is Captain Kidd,” Altaïr piped up, pulling a dark brown ferret out from under the bookshelf. She wiggled in his grip, trying in vain to bite his hand. “She’s the devil incarnate.”  
  
“No, she’s a lady of distinct talents,” Ezio corrected, taking the ferret from his coworker and cradling her like a baby against his chest. She struggled against him as well, kicking her back feet like it would somehow propel her out of his hold. “Isn’t that right, Captain?” he cooed, wiggling a finger in front of her face, which she promptly bit.   
  
Altaïr sighed in frustration from his position on the floor while Ezio attempted to get his finger loose. “I can’t find the keychain,” he mumbled. “She got to her hoard somehow.”  
  
Ziio was the next to speak up, looking amused by the whole situation. “You have a _ferret_. Some shops have cats, you know.”  
  
“Aye, but we’re no typical shop,” Edward replied. “We needed a suitable mascot, and she just happened to be available. What better for a pirate store than a ferret?”  
  
“Not having anything,” Altaïr grumbled, walking over to the cash register and pulling out a notepad from underneath it. “That’s six this month, and it’s only the second week. She’s a damn scourge.”  
  
“She’s an excellent pirate,” Ezio said, holding her aloft while she tried to free herself.   
  
“Well, ferret thievery aside,” Edward started. “Ezio, do you mind giving these two a tour of the place? I saw Thatch’s car here and he still owes me a few things, so I’m going to get that done.”  
  
“Of course!” Ezio replied, saluting with his ferret-free hand. “And the Captain?”  
  
“Set her free. She’s done her time for the day.”  
  
Ezio set Captain Kidd back on the ground and she immediately scurried back under the bookshelf and out of sight. He brushed off his shirt and grimaced at the sight of it. “Ah. Ferret hair has that unfortunate ability to weave into your clothes. Oh well.”  
  
As Edward made his way out through the front door, Ezio stood in front of them, hands on his hips, his smile wide. “Alright, time to do my best tour guide impersonation! We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”


End file.
